


Restraint

by teacuphuman



Series: A Month of Kink! [11]
Category: Inception
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is kidnapped and wakes up in a precarious position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Day 11 of the Month of Kink: Shibari
> 
> I don't even know anymore with this one. I've been writing it for a week and it still feels like it got away from me. I hope it's not too out of sorts and that you enjoy it!
> 
> P.S. While researching Shibari, I decided this would be an excellent way to relax and let things go. I'll probably never actually try it, but a girl can dream.

Arthur wakes, cold, wet and disoriented. His joints ache and the room is spinning. He squeezes his eyes shut to clear them and realizes it’s not in his head. The room is actually spinning as he rotates slowly.

A hand presses on his shoulder, sending him in another circle. The dim light in the room flashes as he whips by it again, and again, spinning faster.

“That’s enough,” A deep voice barks. “If he chokes to death on his vomit I’ll be very upset.”

The hand grabs his head, stopping the revolutions and making his stomach lurch. There’s tape across his mouth and Arthur fears for a moment he may actually throw up. He swallows thickly, breathing through his nose in loud huff.

Black brogues step into his line of vision and he strains to raise his head. A man in a grey, double breasted suit is chewing on an unlit cigar and squinting at him.

“You’re very fortunate, Arthur, Stan’s getting better at this. The first few he strung up were in considerable pain. What happened to that one guy? The one we couldn’t wake up?” The man speaks to someone behind Arthur.

“I cut off blood flow to his carotid artery.” A soft voice responds.

“Right! Pretty fucking hard to get answers from a man having a stroke!” The man laughs, sweat beading on his face.

Arthur scowls, trying to move his arms.

“That’ll just tighten it.” The soft voice says.

“Stan’s little hobby has come in real handy for slippery buggers like you. Rumour is, no one can touch Arthur. Man like that can get out of any jam. Well, I think we’ve found your limit, eh?”

The hand leaves his head and he drifts to the side, his toes scraping the floor. His head drops and he can see some of the rope locking him in this position. His legs are free, barely brushing the concrete below, but his arms and shoulders are bound tightly to his torso along his back, keeping him bent at the waist. There’s no way for him to get leverage, and every time he tries to move, the ropes tighten. 

They’ve stripped him to his underwear, and the drugs they dosed him with are making the edges of his vision fuzzy. He can make out two more sets of shoes standing off to the side. 

“We’ve taken precautions to ensure you can’t escape. It was a nice suit, by the way. Unfortunately the boys got a little impatient and cut it off you. Now, I won’t insult you by telling you I’ll let you go if you tell me what I want to know, because I think we both know that’s not going to happen. I will, however, give you my word that your death will be as painless as possible if you cooperate.”

Arthur’s mind is swimming with questions. He has no idea who this man is, or what he thinks Arthur can tell him, but he’s already sure he won’t be taking the easy way out.

"Two years ago, you played your little dream trick on a man named Donald Sanderson. I want to know what you found in his head." 

Arthur scowls, the Sanderson job had not gone to plan. He had a bullet still lodged in his hip as proof. It was supposed to be a simple extraction; collect the account numbers hiding the money Sanderson had embezzled from the foundation he chaired, and deliver them to the board, who had hired them. 

Arthur had shot himself out when Sanderson vanished in front of him and Cruz, the extractor, fifteen minutes into the dream. The first thing he registered when he came to was the sound of Cruz’s body hitting the floor. Arthur had his gun drawn and the needle out seconds after his eyes opened, firing shots while diving behind the desk in Sanderson’s office.

The soft whump of the attacker’s silencer sliced through the room, bullets embedding into the floor beside him. Shouts came through the closed door as people in the outer offices reacted to his return gunfire.

He surged up, firing blind, and rushed the shooter. They scrambled for a moment, trading punches, until Arthur managed to stun him by connecting the butt of his gun with the side of assailant’s head. Arthur threw open the door and ran. 

The bullet found him in the underground parking lot as he rounded the driver’s side of his car. He stumbled, turning to keep the man in his line of sight, and popped off another two shots. It was pure luck that he caught the shooter in the face, dropping him to the ground. 

Arthur put one of his emergency plans into action, and after stitching himself up, fled the country. He ran to the safest place he knew. He ran to Eames.

Now, two years later, that day had caught up with him, and there was no Eames to come to his rescue. Ten months prior, the forger had dropped off the map while on a job in Nicaragua. He’d been delivering an order of forged passports for a friend’s friend’s, supposedly secure contact. Arthur hadn’t looked too hard for him, he knew sometimes people in their line of work needed to disappear, and Eames always had been like a bad penny.

It had surprised him how much he missed Eames. What had been a casual thing before Arthur got shot, had morphed into a pseudo relationship while Arthur recovered and searched for whoever had ordered the attack.

The morning he left, Eames had kissed him goodbye, reaching under the covers to slide his hand over Arthur’s ass, while Arthur pulled his pillow over his head and told him to fuck off. It wasn’t love, but it was as close as Arthur had ever come.

The tape being ripped off shocks him. The drugs are allowing him to drift, and there’s a good chance he’s missed something important. The man in the suit is looking at him expectantly.

“Who are you?” Arthur croaks.

“Does that really matter?” The man frowns.

“It does to me,” he sighs, straining to keep his head up despite the ropes urging it down. “I like to know who’s threatening me.”

“It’s not a threat, Arthur. It’s a promise. Now, tell me what you found in Sanderson’s head.”

“I wasn’t the extractor.” He wishes he could spit, but whatever they gave him has dried him out.

“No, that man is dead. You proved harder to get rid of. You left me with quite the mess to clean up, you know.”

“Are you waiting for me to apologize?” Arthur raises an eyebrow.

The man chuckles. “I’d be disappointed if you did. Look, it doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that I need to know what you saw that day. This is your last chance to answer without motivation.”

“Fuck you.” 

The man sighs, straightening up and waving toward the men Arthur can’t see. One of them steps forward, large and looming, and Arthur braces for a blow that never comes. Instead, a shot rings out, making Arthur flinch, and taking out the man in the suit. The brut is next, and Arthur is treated to a bird’s eye view of him bleeding out on the floor. 

“Sorry about that, darling. I wasn’t keen on watching you get hurt.”

“Eames?” Arthur shouts, straining to turn his head.

“Ah, ah, don’t struggle. You’ll damage something.” Eames squeezes his shoulder, stepping over the bodies to peer into Arthur’s face.

“Miss me?” He grins.

“What the fuck is going on, Eames?” Arthur grits out.

“Hold on a tick, I need to move these two.” He pulls on black leather gloves and drags the bodies to the corner of the room.

He returns with a bottle of water, holding it up to Arthur’s mouth and tracing the drops that escape with his finger, following them down Arthur’s chin.

“We need to get out of here.” Arthur says, not particularly enjoying the spark he sees in Eames’ eyes.

“No hurry. No one will come looking for them for days yet. There was to be no communication until they either had the answers they were looking for, or you were dead.” Eames is staring at Arthur’s mouth.

“Who were they? I searched everywhere for who ordered Sanderson’s death and found nothing.”

Eames drags over a chair and sits, face close to Arthur’s. “Sanderson wasn’t just embezzling from a charity foundation, he was stealing from the largest weapons dealer in Central America. The foundation was set up to launder money, and Sanderson found out while covering his tracks. Charles over there, that’s the bloke in the suit, works for a man named Duvan, who heads the cartel. They worried you would uncover all this while in Sanderson’s head and sent someone to stop you.”

Eames presses the bottle to Arthur’s lips again. “You, my lovely, ruined their plans by escaping. It took them months to even find out who you were.”

“Right, and how do you fit into all of this?” Arthur can feel exhaustion creeping in now that his adrenaline is waning.

“I heard a rumour while I was Managua, celebrating the payout from those passports, remember? Anyway, I did some digging, and wormed my way into Charlie’s entourage as Stan: quiet sadist, and waited for them to pick you up.”

“You’ve been gone nearly a year, Eames. You couldn’t have just come home and warned me?” Arthur is too tired to get properly angry, but he forces as much ire into his voice as he can muster.

Eames leans forward and cups Arthur’s face in his hands. “Arthur, darling, didn’t I tell you I’d take care of you when you showed up on my doorstep with a bullet in you? I told you I’d find whoever dared hurt you, and that I’d end them.” 

“You still could have called, written, something, to let me know you were okay.”

“Did you worry over me, love? Did you think I had perished?” Eames smiles.

“No, you’re too much of an asshole to not to burden me with watching you die.”

Eames chuckles, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Oh, darling, I have missed you.”

“Get me out of these ropes and you can show me how much.”

“Ah, I’m afraid I can’t do that, pet.”

“Why the fuck not?” Arthur spits.

“Stan spent months perfecting his skills, and I designed this position just for you.” Eames stares lovingly at the ropes suspending Arthur from the roof.

“And I’m very thankful that you put so much effort into ensuring I don’t suffer permanent damage, but we need to get out of here.”

“And I said there’s no hurry. Are you in pain? Has anything gone numb?”

Arthur takes a minute to tense and relax his muscles. Nothing feels in danger of falling off, in fact, he’s not even physically uncomfortable. The ropes are strategically placed to support him completely. With the sedatives still in his system, he feels like he’s floating.

“No, but what’s the point in sticking around? Do you want to take pictures to remember this by?” Arthur asks dryly, easing his muscles and letting the ropes hold him.

“I didn’t think of pictures,” Eames stands and fishes out his phone. “That’s an excellent starting point.”

The first flash blinds Arthur. Eames walks around him, documenting from every angle. He runs his hands over Arthur’s body, making the ropes sway. He gasps when he feels cold metal against his thigh. With one quick tug, Eames cuts off his underwear.

Arthur swears, but Eames ignores him and goes back to taking pictures. Arthur is drifting again when Eames’ hand returns, massaging his thighs. He moans, enjoying the soothing touch on his exhausted body. He jerks when Eames spreads his cheeks.

“What are you doing?” He slurs.

“Oh, darling, you look too good to stop now.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” He starts to struggle again. “Eames, answer me!” 

Eames makes a noncommittal noise and sinks a finger into Arthur’s ass. He yelps at the cold lube and the intrusion, but Eames ignores him, thrusting his finger slowly.

“Eames, seriously.” Arthur says through clenched teeth.

Eames’ only reply is to press in another finger, not giving Arthur time to adjust before he’s moving again. Arthur chokes out a cry when Eames rubs along his prostate. Teeth sink into his outer thigh, stilling him as the fingers speed up.

“Eames, stop, please.” Arthur moans.

“Mmm, no,” Eames stills his fingers and pulls Arthur back onto them with a hand on his hip, testing out the swing of the ropes. “I’ve missed you, pet. Be a good boy and let me play for a bit, yeah?”

“You know you’re not actually Stan, right?” Arthur frowns.

“Yes, Arthur.” Eames says, dryly.

“Should I expect this new hobby to come home with us? Because you’re not exactly inspiring confidence right now.”

“It can’t be that bad if you’re still willing to let me come home with you.” Eames pulls out and adds a third finger.

“Bastard,” Arthur hisses.

Eames laughs. “Just relax and let me get this out of my system. When we get home, you can tie me up.”

“Promise?” Arthur breathes through the stretch. 

“Yes, dear,” Eames sounds dazed. “I really have missed you.”

“Me too,” Arthur admits.

“How long did you wait until you moved on?” 

“What?” Arthur tries to turn his head, wincing when the rope bites into his neck.

“How long after I disappeared did you fuck someone else?” The thrusts get faster, more forceful.

“I didn’t,” Arthur gasps. “I wouldn’t.”

Eames stops, pulling his fingers out and circling around to peer into Arthur’s face. “No one?”

“Of course not. I knew you’d be back.” Arthur scowls at him. How could Eames think he’d just move on like that?

“But it’s been nearly a year.”

“Yeah, and I knew you’d be back. I didn’t want anyone else. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Eames cradles his head, pressing kisses all over his face. “I’m going to make things right again.”

“Hold on, how long did you wait?” He asks as Eames moves back around him.

“Darling, you insult me.”

Eames resumes his petting, smoothing his clean hand over the ropes holding Arthur’s arms and back. 

“God, Arthur, you really are lovely. It nearly drove me mad to be away from you. I’ll never let it happen again. I promise. I’m going to keep you with me always.” 

Arthur is a little thrown, Eames has never spoken to him like this, like Arthur is something he can’t bear to lose. It’s flattering and exciting, and a little more than frightening. Eames is intense, his focus zoned in completely on Arthur, and Arthur himself is open and vulnerable, unable to stop what’s coming. 

Eames’ fingers return, stretching him one last time. He holds Arthur open with two fingers, spread wide, while he slips the head of his cock in alongside them. Arthur holds his breath until Eames is fully seated.

The ropes creak as Eames’ starts to thrust, sending Arthur’s body swinging. They come together with a punch, their bodies slapping together. The feeling is intense, so much more than usual because Arthur has no control. Eames’ has complete authority over not only his body, but his senses as well. He’s starting to see the appeal of the ropes.

Arthur shudders, cool air blowing over his skin, his cock dripping onto the floor as Eames pulls them together, again and again.

“Eames,” Arthur cries, needing the other man’s voice to anchor him.

“I’m here, darling, just admiring the view,” Eames slows down, only pulling out and inch or two before sliding back in. “You’re so tight. Did you really wait all that time for me?”

“Fuck, yes!” Arthur’s whole body shakes as Eames drags slowly over his prostate.

“I don’t deserve you, God, Arthur. But I want to. I’ll show you. I’ll prove to you how good I can be.”

Eames is rambling, losing himself to the grip and slide of their bodies, and Arthur isn’t sure if he’s even aware of half the words he’s saying.

“I thought of you every day. I missed everything about you. How you only bite your nails if the movie you’re watching is really good, the way you rotate your ties and match your suits to them, instead of the other way around. The slight tilt of your head when you get tired. How, on every third Thursday of the month, you part your hair to the left, instead of slicking it back. Why do you do that? Nevermind, don’t tell me, I want to figure it out.”

Arthur is shocked at the intimacy of Eames’ words. They describe some of the million little mannerisms and neuroses that one only picks up when they’re really paying attention. When the person they belong to matters. 

“Eames,” he croaks, straining to keep a level head. “Do you-”

“Hush, darling, no more talking. Just relax and let me lead. Do you like the ropes? I think I might like them. We may do this again when we get home. I’m quite good at it. How does it feel?”

Arthur eases into the hold of the ropes again, feeling weightless and relaxed. Would he want to do this again? Let Eames have this much power over his life?

“Yes,” he decides.

Eames sucks a bruise on to his spine, his rhythm quickening. “I want to do this for you, liberate you. You’re always in charge and buttoned up, love. You deserve someone who can take you apart, piece by piece. And I promise to always put your bits back right.”

Eames is driving into him now, using the ropes binding his arms as handholds. His words filter off, leaving just the sounds of their harsh breaths and the slap of their flesh. Arthur comes untouched, splattering the floor with his spunk. Eames ruts into him at a frantic pace, shouting and burying himself deep when his orgasm hits.

He holds Arthur close until he’s soft and Arthur’s body spasms with an aftershock, forcing him out. Eames’ release trickles down his thigh, tickling, and Arthur hums, unable to put words to the complete bliss he feels in the aftermath of the other man’s confessions and care.

“Arthur?” Eames pets his shoulder, rousing him. “I’m going to let you down now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes.

His limbs are weak and shaky once the ropes are removed, and Eames carries him to a blanket laid out on the floor. He places chase kisses to Arthur’s skin before wrapping him up. Arthur grins at him, feeling dopey and sated.

“There are easier ways to tell me you love me, you know.”

Eames sighs, nodding. “I know, but I figured you were worth a grand gesture.”

“Thank you for saving my life.” Arthur whispers.

Eames smiles, soft and bright. “Thanks for saving mine back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [teacuphuman09](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/teacuphuman09)


End file.
